


Freaks Like Us

by and_behold



Category: Harvest Moon: Animal Parade
Genre: F/F, F/M, Fart Fetish, Lolicon, Scat, Sibling Incest, Slurs, Statutory Rape, Underage Sex, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 12:31:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4706129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/and_behold/pseuds/and_behold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I've come to the conclusion that I'm abnormal." Chase/Molly w/ mentions of Molly/Selena, Maya/Chase, and Chase/Anissa</p>
            </blockquote>





	Freaks Like Us

I've been thinking about doing a scat fic for awhile now and the idea for this story sort of spawned from that urge. I've also been playing Harvest Moon ToT and AP nonstop for the last week or so. So that might have something to do with it.   
The sex scene is a tad short, but, that's something I purposely did. It's supposed to be a hasty, heat-of-the-moment deal. It felt strange when I tried to draw it out longer. But, I apologize if you find it kind of lacking anyways. I've honesty fucked with this story so much that I'm sick to my very bones of looking at it. Oh, and sorry about the beyond cheesy ending - I was feeling quite romantic and lovey-dovey when I wrote this. Hehe~  
So, enjoy. If you can.

Warning: This story contains references to homosexuality, incest, pedophilia, voyeurism, exhibitionism, coprophilia (i.e. content dealing with the sexual attraction to and/or activities including feces), strong language, and what would be defined in many countries as statutory rape. If you find these themes offensive, please do not read any further. You have been warned.

I do not own Harvest Moon. Natsume and Marvelous do.   
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I've come to the conclusion that I'm abnormal.  
My name is Chase and I'm a twenty-five-year-old chef. I work at a nice-enough bar on an island off the coast of Japan known as Castanet Island. I'm a bit snarky and cynical, but, I've been trying to cut down on the smart ass comments as of late. I can tell my family, as well as the other islanders, don't appreciate my dry sense of humour, choosing instead to shove their heads into the ground and pretend that everything is fine, a cheery disposition covering up years of inadequacy by fault of the island.  
But, let's just cut to the chase (see, my humour isn't all cancer and slapstick). I also have a huge secret that no one, not even my nosy little sister Maya, knows about.   
I'm a coprophile, or, in lamens terms, I'm a shit-freak. Which means I spend a vast majority of my time, yes, even when I'm preparing meals at the bar, daydreaming about what happens once those meals make it through our customers' digestive tracts and into their toilets.   
When I'm serving a sexy girl, or a small pack of them, I watch them from the kitchen as they eat their food, hoping that maybe they'll mention needing to use the restroom or accidentally let one rip while leaning over to pick up a fallen napkin, her friends giggling and teasing her while her face turns red with embarrassment.   
I've gotten an erection at work many a time at this point, thinking of those cute girls lifting up their skirts and pulling their panties to their knees, their pert little asses settling down on the toilet seat in the bar bathroom or back at their houses, their legs spread apart as they push out log after log of the food I'd just served to them not long beforehand.   
Once or twice, I got so turned on that I had to visit the restroom myself. Luckily the mess I made in there was always blamed on an inconsiderate and intoxicated customer. Unfortunately, I was still given the unsavory job of cleaning it up afterwards.  
You might wonder why I have such a strange fetish. I did as well, for a really long time.   
I became certain I had the fetish when I was sixteen, almost a decade ago, when my little sister, who was five at the time, decided she would get me back for something I'd said or done to her by farting in my face to wake me up. So, when I was napping on the couch that day, she put her ass on my face and did exactly that. When I woke up with my five-year-old sister's farting little bubble butt in my face, I became extremely aroused. I'd had to practically shove Maya off of me and sprint to the bathroom so that she wouldn't see what she'd done to me.   
Don't get me wrong - I was vaguely aroused by flatulence and the like before, but, I figured I was just going through some weird puberty stage or that the two things were unrelated. After all, I popped boners constantly during that awkward stage in my life and I had when I was little as well, just not so much and not so uncontrollably. So, I just figured it was something that would pass.   
But, when my cock when from zero to rock-hard in under a minute just from Maya's stinky assault, I realized that these feelings weren't ever going away and that I might as well get used to it. So, I did.   
When I left Castanet to gather herbs and spices and hone my cooking skills at eighteen, I visited the city quite often and by a great stroke of luck found an extremely seedy chain of shops that sold all kinds of products that I was very much interested in. I ended up purchasing anal beads, lube, a large, realistic vibrator, and a very sordid collection of porn that heeded to my most perverse desires. I turned into quite the butt-slut during the two years I was gone, experimenting with all kinds of things and finally coming to the conclusion that I wasn't just an eproctophile, or someone who gets off on farts, but, a coprophile as well.   
I figure these desires were spawned by my sense of inadequacy and never feeling good enough when I was growing up. I read in a psychology book that some coprophiles say they find the thought of feces and being defecated on so arousing because they associate themselves with feces due to feelings of worthlessness caused by abuse or a long list of failures in their lives.  
I had always shown an interest in cooking and fell in love with it by the time I hit double digits, but, my grandmother was never satisfied with what I put in front of her, always had some snide remark about the blandness of the meat or the overuse of herbs. It gave me such an inferiority complex that since I began training to be a chef at the age of twelve, I've done everything I could to improve as rapidly as possible. I pored over recipe books and, once I'd secured my job at the bar, psycho-analyzed every customer review someone left, trying so hard to decipher whether I'd done good enough I'm surprised I didn't pop a blood vessel.   
Putting aside the whole "I'm worthless" masochistic thing, I think my obsession with food has something to do with my obsession with feces. I mean, if you think about it, they're practically the same thing. You can't have shit without sustenance.   
It wasn't easy for me, knowing these disgusting things about myself. It made dating hard. I was a junior when I met my first steady girlfriend who was a freshman at my high school (which wasn't much more than three rooms and a few desks) named Anissa who shared my love of food since her parents owned Marimba Farm. We dated for two months and the farthest I'd gotten with her before we broke it off was some hickeys and heavy ass-groping. Maybe I was putting off some weird shit-vibes that she was picking up on. I'm still not clear on why she broke up with me. But, she's married to the island doctor now, not to mention pregnant with his kid, so why bother bringing up our short-lived high school romance now?  
Since then, the only sexual experiences I can speak of involve a lot of ecstasy-induced gay butt stuff I was into in the city and some borderline molestation I inflicted upon Maya when she turned ten and began developing breasts and hip-thigh-ass definition.   
So, besides being a sadomasochistic shit-freak and a bit of a pedophile, I'm also technically still a virgin at the age of twenty five. If that isn't abnormal, I don't know what is.   
But, at least the only one who has to feel ashamed about it is me. I've kept this secret sealed up airtight since I got back five years ago. All my toys and porn and lube are locked up in such a secure location that I doubt anyone could find them. I couldn't look my parents in the eye ever again if they found out what a pervert I am. And that's why they'll never know.  
So, now that I've introduced myself, I might as well let you know what I'm currently doing.   
Clad in a pair of Vodka-stained black jeans and a short-sleeve white button-up shirt, a pair of lightly-scuffed and hardly worn black dress shoes on my feet and a small black box with a lacy pink ribbon securing it resting in my back pocket, I'm trekking towards my best friend Molly's house to pick her up and take her to the Firefly Festival.   
Don't get any ideas. We're really just friends. Of course, I think she's gorgeous and would love nothing more than to make her moan my name, but, she hasn't been very clear about whether she'd date me or not. And right now she's going out with the bar's dancer, Selena, which is quite hot, but, doesn't help me out at all.   
Except for tonight. For some reason the sultry redhead can't make it to the festival so Molly asked me if I could take her since I'm her best friend. At the words "best friend", I felt conflicted. Of course I was happy I meant that much to her, but, the way she's been teasing me as of late would suggest I was a bit more than a friend.   
But, whatever, I still get to take a beautiful and busty babe on a very romantic kind-of date. What do I really have to complain about?   
I reach her door and rap against it, hearing a muffled "Come in!" from somewhere inside. I open the door and close it behind me only to see what looks like the aftermath of a tornado inside her living room. Dresses, halter tops, skirts, blouses, slacks, heels, Mary Janes, panties, thongs, bras, sneakers - you name a clothing item and it's strewn somewhere among the chaos, maybe hanging from the ceiling fan or halfway shoved inside the oven.   
I roll my eyes. I'll never understand women and their obsession with the 'perfect outfit'.  
But, as my eyes focus in on her underclothes, there's a small unsolicited treat for me. Some of the panties have skid marks on the backs of them. This simple fact evokes immense arousal and slight disgust at the thought of dirty and clean clothes getting mixed in together.   
"Chase, are you out there?" I hear Molly call from inside the bathroom.   
"Yeah, I'm here. Your house is fucking trashed, kiddo."  
She giggles. "I know, sorry!"  
"It's fine. I should be used to it by now, I guess." And this is true. Molly has never been very adept at housekeeping.   
More giggling. "Fuck you, Chase! You know my house usually doesn't look this bad," she pauses before adding, "Hey, can you come here? I need you to do something for me."  
Countless depraved scenarios enter my dirty mind after hearing that, but, I push those thoughts away and navigate through the sea of clothing, trying not to step on anything that looks clean.  
I get to the bathroom door and see Molly wearing an oversized black tee and a pink thong that looks a bit brown in the back pulled down to her knees, her soft auburn bob hanging over her face, obscuring her vision until I clear my throat awkwardly and she starts slightly, looking up at me with her pretty puppy dog eyes.   
"Hey, Chase," she beams at me, motioning with her long, calloused fingers at the empty rolls of toilet paper scattered on the floor, "Do you think you could bring me that new pack of toilet paper sitting on the sofa out there?"   
I smirk, despite being more aroused than I could ever remember being by the wafting scent of her freshly pinched loaf resting in the toilet bowl. I'm a master at keeping myself composed.   
"You're beyond shameless, aren't you? Do you let all your guy friends see you on the toilet or should I feel honored as the only one?" I tease her as I spot the new pack laying on its side on the plaid sofa that Molly adores with every ounce of her being and I secretly think is the ugliest thing in her house.   
A toothy grin, crinkled eyes. "You can go ahead and feel honored because the only other person who's seen me like this is Selena. Now," shooing me with her hands, "go make yourself useful, slave boy."   
"Your wish is my command, your highness." I give an exaggerated bow before returning to the pile of clothes to do her bidding.  
My mind is reeling as I start back through the mess. She feels comfortable enough with me to let me see her on the toilet, but, not her other female friends. That combined with her throwing in that whole 'slave boy' thing at the end makes my heart flutter like a schoolgirl. I couldn't be more confused or turned on. I've never had such an intimate relationship with a girl, not even with my ex or my little sister.   
The fact that she trusts me that much along with the obvious arousal I always feel when someone I find attractive is taking a shit and I can see and/or smell it makes me ecstatic. Even if we never become a couple, I can see us having a very close relationship for years to come (with countless opportunities for me to secretly enjoy her dirty panties and look at her while she utilizes the toilet).  
I grab the pack of toilet paper and return to the bathroom, holding it out to Molly, who seems to be in the middle of pinching yet another loaf.   
"It stinks in here." I remark, smiling.   
She takes the pack from my hand and rips it open before flipping me off, "You act like your shit don't stink, pretty boy."  
"Oh, believe me, it does." My smile grows wider. I love these stupid conversations we have.   
Her beautiful face scrunches up momentarily before a subtle plop sound signifies the passing of another deuce. It smells just as pungently perfect as the last one.   
"Prove it then," she challenges as she rolls a wad of toilet paper in her palm and, raising her black shirt enough so that I can see her curly russet pubes, reaches down into her sex and wipes it before leaning over and dipping her hand under her ass, pushing the wad into her deep ass crack and gathering any leftover dingleberries that might still reside there.   
Watching her wipe her ass is almost too much to bear, especially when she pulls the wad out of her ass and shows it to me, a cheeky grin on her face.   
"You nasty fucker." I'm in bliss. How could I ask for more?  
"I am one nasty fucker, you are correct," she says as she throws the wad into the toilet and stands, pulling her dirty pink thong up and into her ass crack. She then motions towards the toilet, "Your turn."   
Coming down from my shit-fume-induced high somewhat, I'm aware that my cock is at half-mast and I'm wondering if she can tell. My jeans are pretty tight and, chancing a glance down, I see that it's pretty obvious that I'm aroused.   
I check my wrist watch nervously. "Molly, we're gonna be late." I try, not quite ready to tell her my secret. I turn towards the door.  
"Chase..." I turn, and by looking at her face I suddenly realize that she's somehow known this whole time.  
I can't help but feel a unique awkwardness envelop me and momentarily forget how to speak in proper sentence formation. This is beyond humiliating.   
"How... I, um, well, I mean, how did you find out?" I finally spit out, my face blazing red and slick with sweat. I lick my lips and taste the salt of it on my tongue.   
"Selena and I are broken up, you know."  
"I thought you said-"  
"I know what I said. I lied." she interjects, seeming fairly uncomfortable herself.   
"But, why?"  
Her eyes suddenly look sad and she doesn't answer, her lips pursed like she's wording out what she wants to say in her head. Finally, she speaks.  
"She found out about me."  
As I hear the words, it takes a minute for them to fully sink in. I can see her analyzing my reaction, wondering if she should elaborate, if she can trust me.  
"And she broke up with you?"  
"Yeah. She walked into the bathroom when I had a load in my panties and started interrogating me until I finally just told her the truth. I always kind of knew she'd never be able to handle it when she found out. I just planned on keeping it from her for as long as I possibly could. I guess it was pretty stupid of me to think she'd never find out."  
She looks so sad and small and vulnerable, I just want to hold her and run my fingers through her autumn curls and make everything better. Molly had told me just a few months ago that she was contemplating proposing to the dancer and now I'm hearing that the bitch just up and abandoned her over something so trivial. How fucking callous!   
I can feel my anger peak; I'm fuming inside. But, I keep myself as calm as possible so as not to upset the heartbroken teen even more.  
"I'm so sorry, Molly, I know how serious you two were." I offer.  
"I was serious," she scoffs, rolling her eyes, "I'm pretty sure she was just using me for my money."  
That makes a lot of sense actually. Molly's farm has become, in the course of one year, much more successful than both Horn Ranch and Marimba Farm combined. She's quite wealthy, but, doesn't like to be reminded of it and tries to downplay it as much as possible. She's the kind of person who you'd never see bragging about how much money she has. On the contrary; it embarrasses her.   
"I can see that. She always seemed kind of self-centered." Understatement of the century.   
"Yeah, I guess my first mistake was trying to make a ho into a housewife." She smiles, but, it's bitter and without warmth.  
I can't stand it any longer. I wrap my arms around her and hold her close to me. She cries into my shirt and hugs me so tight I can hardly breathe. Petting her head and playing with the soft red-brown strands of her hair, breathing in her sweet earthy smell, I feel a connection between us that wasn't there before. I think I might be falling for this cheeky, stubborn, sexy, crazy fifteen-year-old. Fast and hard.  
She loosens her grip a bit and looks up at me, her amber eyes bright with hot tears, showing flecks of scarlet and gold that I had never seen before. She's positively scintillating.  
"You know when it happened? Her breaking up with me? It was the night of my fifteenth birthday, May twentieth. And, you know what else?" she violently wipes at her her tears as her voice grows more tumultuous, "She didn't even have the decency to celebrate with me. She just stormed out and came back a week later asking for anything that belonged to her or that she gave me. She didn't even apologize! She just looked at me like I was road kill."   
I'm not sure what spurs me to do it, but, in a moment's time, our mouths are practically melted together and my hands are all over her body, lifting her legs up and shoving her against the wall as if we were passionate lovers instead of awkward, lonely friends.  
Her sizable breasts press against my chest as we embrace, my need and hers rubbing against the other, creating a tortuous friction. Our tongues wrestle as I dry-fuck her against her bathroom wall, the delicious smell of her dump fading yet still present in both our noses.  
I give in to temptation and unzip my pants, freeing my rapidly hardening member and pushing aside her scanty thong before plunging myself inside her. Her head jerks back and she moans as I pound into her, relishing in the rapture of losing my virginity to this live wire of a girl and feeling her wetness soak the crotch of my jeans.   
"Fuck me, Chase! Oh, God, fuck me harder!" Molly screams, so overcome with pleasure she doesn't notice the drool sliding down her chin. Out of courtesy, I wipe it away with my thumb.   
Entranced by her loosely contained bust, I roughly rip her shirt up and shove the balled hem of it into her mouth to gag her, gazing at her buoyantly bouncing breasts, quite large for a girl so young, and the obvious tan lines indicating that a very skimpy bikini was worn at some point this summer. Picturing her in such a revealing ensemble makes my cock twitch in delight, even as I'm fucking her in her own bathroom. Her brailly, brownish-pink nipples point upwards, so perky and burgeoned, as if begging to be twisted and suckled upon.   
If I were a braver man, I'd twist them, but, I'm a coward so I merely caress and massage her breast with my free hand and run my tongue along the other one, brushing lightly against her nipples with my thumb or the tip of my tongue just to tease her.   
Suddenly I feel a familiar warmth running down my legs and look down at our interlocked genitals to see a golden stream of urine escaping through her urethra and engulfing my cock. I almost come right then, but, I'm able to clear my mind and focus on pleasuring her, even with the sweet sprinkling sound of piss droplets splashing to the floor echoing in my ears.   
"You like it when I pee on you? Huh?" Molly instigates between moans, her forehead and cheeks slick with sweat while her mascara bleeds grey down her face. Her gag somehow fell out during our romp. I hadn't even noticed until she spoke.   
"Yes, I love it! Please degrade me more, Molly! Piss all over me and make me your fucking toilet bitch!" I beg, taking the role of the submissive now. I'm definitely more comfortable in that position anyways and she's more than happy to take control.   
"I don't have anymore in me, but," she licks her plump rouge-smudged lips and grins sexily, "I have some gas if you'd like me to release it."   
"Oh, please do." I groan, already so close to the edge.   
She more than obliges me, the wet, guttural, nasty noise of her farts reverberating perversely throughout the tiny bathroom and ravaging my mind. The only sounds I'm aware of are our loud moaning, the wet slap of our skin colliding, and the obscene orchestra blowing out her ass. Saying it's like music to my ears is a cheap understatement; it's like a live rock concert with ten thousand horny, sweaty, smelly, pretty, drugged-up dancers humping and gyrating and singing along and screaming and throwing their soiled knickers at the stage and it's all for me.  
And the smell of it, of sex and piss and flatulence, is beyond my wildest, dirtiest fantasies. It takes everything I have to keep from coming before her. And then, her eyes lolling back into her head, her legs tightening around my waist, her hips feverishly shoving into mine, she finally comes, kicking and screaming. And after a few more thrusts, I feel my cock emptying it's seed into her cunt. Just to make it even, I relieve myself inside her while I'm still there, secretly scandalized as I do so by my sudden bravado. Disappointingly, she either doesn't notice or doesn't mind because she says nothing about it.   
After a while, we calm down, breathing heavily, and I put her back down. She looks at me with a crazed, dazed, and confused look in her eyes. I can't help but marvel at how much the sheen of sex-sweat brings out her features and makes them pop.   
"Wow. I mean, uh... Wow."   
I can't help but snicker. "My thoughts exactly."  
A slightly awkward moment passes as our eyes and noses attune to the filth we've accumulated on ourselves and the floor in less than thirty minutes. She breaks the silence first.   
"So, um, how long have you wanted to do that?"  
"Oh, awhile. What about you?"  
She laughs. "This entire thing was my lame excuse for a seduction attempt."  
I laugh, too. "Ah, it's all coming together now."  
"Yeah," she blushes beautifully and avoids my eyes, "You must think I'm insane."  
"What are you talking about? Of course I don't think you're insane," I pause meaningfully, "I know you are." That earns me a punch in the arm. "Ow! Keep your paws off of me, you big-fisted dyke!"  
"That's what you get when you cross me, mothafucka!" she looks mean and crosses her arms. Then bursts out laughing at herself.   
"Is that your lame excuse for a gangster impersonation?"  
We go back and forth like that for almost an hour, at some point changing into clean clothes (I somehow fit into her bigger clothes, but, keep that to yourself, ok?) and toweling up the puddle on the floor, before I remember what I'd asked earlier.  
"Hey, so how did you find out I was into... well, you know." I can't say it. I can't say scat or coprophilia or any of that. Not yet.  
"I found your stash of dildos and porn stuffed inside the yellow bell. And I knew it was yours because you left your name tag in it like a retard." Molly explains, rolling her big brown eyes and smiling. She's sitting on the toilet again with the lid closed this time. She still hasn't flushed it. I'm seated on a stool I dragged in so I'd have somewhere to sit. I'd say I don't know how we ended up in the bathroom again, but, that would be a lie.   
I blush. "Oh..." How stupid of me!   
"So, now we both know the how, but, the why is still a mystery. So, without further ado," she does a quick drumroll by hitting her open palms against the skin of her thighs which makes us both smile, "why are you into this?"   
I quickly explain my inferiority complex and the incident with Maya and the resulting sadomasochism, coprophilia, and pedophilia, trying not to go into so much detail that I embarrass myself. "What about you?"  
"I was molested by my uncle growing up plus I got bullied for being fat from kindergarten to sixth grade when I went on a diet."   
"God, that's horrible, Molly. How long did the abuse last?" I can't help but ask. I suddenly want to know everything there is to know about her.   
"I was three when it started and he wasn't caught until I turned twelve, so a good nine years." she says, looking forlorn and distant, avoiding my eyes again.   
"Does it still affect you? I mean, do you have memories or nightmares or anything?" I'm prying, I know, but, I can't seem to stop myself.  
"I remember all of it, but, I wish I could just erase it from my memory. I only think about it when I'm really sad so I try to keep my spirits up no matter what. But, even putting that aside, my fetishes and the darkness I try to repress are still ever-present in my mind and they all go back to the root, which is my abuse. So, I think it'll affect me for the rest of my life. But," she looks up at me with a fiery glint in her eyes, "you know I'll be just fine."   
"I know, Molly. You can bounce back from just about anything."  
We look at each other for a moment and take in the easy intimacy between us. There's something of a haze in her eyes. I can't tell if it's love or lust. But, looking into those eyes, I know what I feel. And in the course of one evening, I've gone from seeing her as a kind of strange yet highly fuckable friend to the girl I could see myself loving and living with for the rest of my life. There's a sweetness to her vulgarity, a cute quality to her eccentricity, an attractiveness to her frankness, and something beautiful about her brokenness.   
Remembering the little black box in my back pocket, I reach for it and hold it out in front of me. Pulling the ribbon off, I open it to reveal a pair of heart-shaped amber studs in a red velvet-lined case.  
She gasps. "For me?"   
I close the lid and hand the box to her along with the ribbon.   
"Molly, I want you to know something."  
She looks up at me and holds my gaze steadily. I have a feeling she already knows what I'm about to say.   
"Molly, I love you. And, I think I might be falling in love with you."   
Her face lights up, her eyes soften, her cheeks redden, and she stands before falling into my arms, nuzzling into my chest.  
"I love you, too, Chase. I'm already in love with you, I have been for awhile." her little face pops up and she flashes me that deviant smile, blinding me, "But, I can wait for you to catch up."   
And with that, my heart ascends into the sun.   
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I've come to the conclusion that I'm abnormal.  
My name is Chase and I'm a twenty-five-year-old chef. I work at a nice-enough bar on an island off the coast of Japan known as Castanet Island. I'm a bit snarky and cynical, but, I've been trying to cut down on the smart ass comments as of late. My girlfriend Molly says that you can't let the negative things in life swallow you, because then you become a piece of shit. And the only shit she wants to see is the shit I'm excreting from my anus, not my mouth. I can't really argue with that logic.  
Both of us have come to the conclusion that we're abnormal. But, to be honest, we don't really give a shit. And that's saying a lot for freaks like us.   
.  
.  
.


End file.
